


Score

by Teland



Category: due South
Genre: Banter, Blow Jobs, First Time, Flirting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-08-23
Updated: 1999-08-23
Packaged: 2020-12-31 21:02:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21152162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teland/pseuds/Teland
Summary: Fraser patches Ray up after the events of Easy Money.





	Score

**Author's Note:**

> Acknowledgments: To Spike and Dawn Sharon for audiencing, to Maxine for fast, fast beta.

Fraser dabbed at the large, ugly scrape on Ray's  
thigh as gently as he could. The wound had   
been taken for him, after all. The second window   
Ray had been flung through working with Fraser,  
and this time the result was more than a few   
bumps and bruises.

He resisted the urge to chide his partner for his  
unorthodox behavior -- Although Fraser was   
reasonably sure no law enforcement agency   
approved of riding through windows on   
department motorcycles, the fact of the matter   
was that if Ray hadn't done so the day might   
not have ended half so fruitfully.

But Ray had refused to go to the hospital and   
was barely tolerating Fraser's presence now --   
it had taken a lengthy discussion of the effects   
of gangrenous infections on human flesh to   
get him to agree to Fraser even taking a look   
at the wound. 

Diefenbaker had placed his paws over his eyes   
so as to avoid hearing what had happened to   
Bearbait Bill Lafleur after the flies had found   
him in that illegal trap and, really, Fraser   
could hardly blame the wolf. 

Ray had held out well into the third generation  
of maggots, though he still seemed slightly green. 

And these thoughts weren't helping him use   
the light, slow touch Ray had insisted upon.   
Fraser winced at the sound of the other man's   
hiss. "Terribly sorry, Ray."

"You're not done *yet*?"

"I'm sure a medical professional --"

"No friggin' *hospitals*."

"Really, Ray, don't you think that attitude is a   
little illogical? Not to mention potentially   
dangerous."

"Fraser, hospitals are bad luck. You go to the   
hospital for a little thing and next thing you   
know they find a big thing and you never leave.  
No hospitals."

"But how will you get treated for a 'big thing'   
if you're never diagnosed?"

"I have no big things. I'm perfectly fine except   
for that damned scrape you're *lingering* over  
and no hospitals. And that's final."

Words less spoken than gritted out and Fraser   
bit the inside of his own lip viciously -- he'd   
been applying too much pressure again and   
was only halfway through the cleaning process.  
Clearly, he needed to clear his mind for this.   
Or, at the very least, he should clear his mind   
of all the nastier, more unpleasant things. 

"Ray, tell me something pleasant."

"Why?"

"Well, if both of us stay focused on those things   
that please us, I'm sure we'll get this scrape   
taken care of --"

"Don't pat my thigh."

"What?"

"Fraser, do not pat my thigh. You looked like you   
were goin' for one a your hale and hearty   
pat-thingies and now is just not the time."

"Ah, I see. Sorry."

"I forgive you. I, too, know the pain of   
compulsive behavior."

"Well I would hardly describe myself as   
*compulsive* --"

"The first step is admitting you have a problem."

"I do *not* have --"

"So, pleasant, pleasant, pleasant. I got it: It is   
pleasant that I am not in the friggin' hospital   
being poked and prodded by bored, uncaring   
strangers who reek of sick people. 

"There, that cut the mustard for ya?"

"Well, Ray, it wasn't precisely what I was   
looking for..."

"You asked me to tell you something pleasant,   
I told you. You cannot offer friggin' critique on  
my sense of taste."

"Oh, I certainly can, Ray. I merely choose not to."

"Ooooh, yer pretty cocky for a guy who spent   
most of the day tied to a *pole*."

"That was hardly my fault --"

"Spreadin' the blame, eh Frase? That's OK, so   
long as *you* believe it wasn't your fault."

"How could it be my fault?"

"I didn't say it was your fault."

"You just did!"

"No, *I* said it was OK for you to believe that it   
wasn't your fault."

"Ray..." Fraser trailed off, horrified to find   
himself -- yet again -- dabbing much too hard.   
Did Ray *want* Fraser to hurt him? The man   
clearly suffered from extensive emotional   
problems. Indeed, the other man's eyes   
practically twinkled from mingled amusement   
and pain.

But it was mostly amusement. 

"Tell me, Ray, when did you first realize that you  
were a masochist?"

"WHAT?!"

Fraser bit his smirk off on the inside of his cheek.   
He could be amused, too. "That you were a   
masochist, or, in layman's terms, a person who   
requires a certain degree of pain in order to   
achieve sexu -- "

"I know what a masochist is, Fraser!"

"Of that I have no doubt. I was just curious as to   
when the desire developed."

"There are no desires happening here!"

"Well, you seem to *enjoy* it when I *press* a   
little *hard*er --"

"OW!"

"Please, Ray, you'll disturb your poor landlady.   
Doubtless not for the *first* time, but..."

"Fraser!"

"... she understands. After all, she's a mature   
woman of the world, probably knows her way   
around a trapeze..."

"FRASER!"

"... often the most *interestingly* dressed young  
men and women appearing and disappearing at  
all hours --"

"*FRASER*!"

"Yes?"

"Nobody likes an evil Mountie."

"Really, Ray, I was just hoping we could have a nice  
chat about each other's sexual preferences."

"Frase -- why?"

"Well, in my experience there are few things more   
pleasant than a nice round of purely carnal   
activities."

"With a trapeze?"

"Actually --"

"No, don't answer that. Fraser!"

"You don't have to keep yelling my name that   
way, Ray, I'm not very far away from you. Have   
you begun to lose your hearing as *well* as   
your eyesight?"

"I'm never jumping through another window for  
you again, you know."

"Well, that's just petty, Ray."

"I -- OK, fine. What are *your* sexual preferences?"

"So you're admitting to the masochism?"

"Why do you think I knew that big, wide,   
sweet-smelling leather belt of yours was called a  
Sam Browne?"

"..." was what Fraser managed before he caught   
the not-entirely-reassuring-but-still-laughing   
look in the other man's eyes. He covered his   
pause by focusing for a moment on what could   
have been a dangerous patch of grit in the   
wound. 

Or his shadow, but you never knew. 

"Well? I'm in the mood for some pleasant   
information, Trapeze-boy."

"Just because you're not agile enough to try it --"

"Hey, the chicks *love* my agile-ness."

"They've clearly never seen a Mountie perform."

"Fraser. That was, like, a one and a quarter   
entendre there."

"A what?"

"Well, it wasn't clever enough for a full double."

"You're having far too much fun for someone   
who hasn't even smelled the antibiotic   
ointment yet."

"Oh, that odor haunts my dreams, buddy, have  
no fear. It's no neatsfoot oil, I'll tell you that   
much."

"Just how much *do* you know about the RCMP  
standard issue uniforms?"

Grin he could feel before he even looked up again.  
Ray had his eyes closed, head leaned back on his  
vaguely dusty countertop. The exhaustion was   
clearly visible this way, a darker shadow than the  
other man's lashes. "That's between you, me, and  
my sore ass, Frase."

"That definitely sounded like an admission."

"Yeah, and bunny sounds like money but Thumper  
won't buy ya beer in a *Chicago* bar. Lord knows   
what they do up there in the Yukon."

"There aren't many public drinking establishments,  
no."

"This doesn't surprise me."

Fraser had the absurd urge to brag about the   
number of illegal stills per square kilometer in   
certain areas of his country, but quickly stifled it.  
"I like to be touched."

"Well, so do I, Fraser, if you ever finish with the   
friggin' wound we can have a nice, manly   
embrace and you're talking about sex again,   
aren't you?"

"You asked."

"You started it."

"Don't be childish."

"Don't make me pop you one."

"Ray."

"Fra-zerrrrr."

"You're just not going to stop taunting me, are   
you?"

"Are you gonna stop using words like 'taunting?'"

"No."

"Well, there ya go."

"That's --"

"So how do you like to be touched, big guy, huh?"

"I..." Well, that was it, then. Fraser would actually   
have to *answer* that question or concede defeat.   
It really was a shame -- for a while he'd been   
almost positive Ray would change the subject   
entirely, thus winning Fraser the battle.

Clearly his partner was a more dangerous   
opponent than Fraser had given him credit for...   
but he was not yet *wholly* defeated.

"I like to be touched on and around my genitals."

"Ah, jeez, I can't believe you just uttered that   
sentence *aloud*!"

"You --"

"Asked, I know. You plan on breaking me of the   
habit of questioning you entirely, don't you?"

"I think of it as a sort of side-project, Ray. A   
hobby, if you will."

"I won't."

"That's not very nice."

"I never, ever claimed to be nice. I'm not givin'   
up, you know."

"You're a very determined young man, Ray."

"We're the same age!"

"I've always found age to be a relative thing. Are   
you ready to be wrapped?"

"What?"

"The bandage, are you ready --"

"Yeah, yeah, so you still haven't answered my   
question, though. You told me where... I wanna   
know how."

"Ray --"

"Are you surrendering?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Ray, Mounties never   
surrender."

"Heh, just keep on believing that. Tell me how."

"What precisely do you mean by 'how?'" Fraser   
barely had any time at all to congratulate   
himself for the skillful stall before Ray barked   
out one distinctly harsh laugh. The look in his   
eyes was purest evil, the lowest of the low.

"You know what I mean, Frase --"

"No, actually, I do not know --"

"Slow? Gentle?" Ray's hands had been resting   
innocently on his own knees, now they moved   
upward, slowly coming together in what would   
certainly be Ray's most vividly comprehensible  
series of hand gestures yet. "Or maybe --"

"Slow. Hard. So I can..."

"So you can what, Frase?"

"Has it occurred to you that this conversation   
could easily be construed as highly   
inappropriate?"

"Yeah, ain't it pleasant?"

Fraser wasn't sure if 'pleasant' was the word he   
would have chosen, especially after Ray slid   
lower in the simple wooden chair and spread his  
legs, near knee bumping Fraser lightly in the   
chest. He was just about to protest until he   
realized that he was still holding the strapping   
tape, that Ray was, in fact, gingerly holding the   
large strip of gauze in place. 

Expectantly, even. 

This might be easier if *I* held the gauze while   
you wrapped the tape around. 

He was staring intently into Ray's eyes when he  
realized he hadn't spoken his last thought out   
loud. 

"So I can be sure to feel it, with every nerve   
ending. So that my whole body knows --" Fraser's  
teeth shut with an audible click. It was *never*   
too late to lock the barn door. 

Ray ran his tongue over his lips in one quick   
movement, winced slightly. Fraser realized he   
was pressing too hard again. Much too hard...   
he shook his thoughts off as best he could and  
began wrapping the tape around...

But trying to avoid brushing the soft, mostly   
hairless skin of Ray's inner thighs only made   
the other man attempt to oblige him by   
spreading his legs even wider. Movement that  
shifted the snugly held flesh of Ray's groin to   
a more... obvious position. 

Shifting his gaze to a less incriminating focus   
left him staring at the oddly, truly endearing   
sight of the thigh of Ray's boxer briefs -- it had  
been rolled up to make it easier for Fraser to   
work and was now cutting into the flesh just   
slightly.

If Fraser worked quickly he could soothe it   
back down...

"Easy there, Frase, don't pop a blood vessel or   
nothin' there."

"I thought you wanted me to hurry up and   
stop touching you." Scandalous, dangerous...   
Fraser felt his cheeks pink. 

"I never said anything about you stopping   
touching me there. That. Shit."

"Language --"

"Fraser --"

"All done. Finished. With the tape."

"I'd get down there with you... on my knees, if   
I could."

What to say to that?

Ray didn't wait. "You could come up here."

"And do what?"

Another laugh, edged and breathless. "OK,   
Mounties don't surrender, horny Chicago cops   
do, you win, you win, you --"

And Fraser managed, barely, to take his time   
smoothing down Ray's boxers before just   
yanking them -- as gently as possible -- out of  
his way.

"Owowohhh... ohhh, man, Fraser fuck I knew  
you could do something useful with that   
tongue no don't stop you can do lots of   
useful things I'm sorry I should not be   
blamed for my inability to properly express  
my thoughts when you're doin' *things* like  
that oh God, Fraser!"

Salty, much too much salt. Ray's diet was a   
scandal in its own right, really, but oh, he   
couldn't complain about the tang of it on   
his tongue, sharp and easy counter to the   
thick heft of the other man's penis in his   
mouth. Tang and blunt like blood on a   
billyclub, so good...

Fraser slipped his hand into the warm,   
sweat-damp hollows of Ray's groin, toying   
with velvet tightening sac, unsure whether   
he wanted to halt the progress of the other   
man's impending orgasm or not. He wanted   
more of everything, and someone had   
replaced too much of his brain with thick   
cotton batting for him to have any idea how   
to get any of what he wanted --

Wordless groans from above, hands in his   
hair, tangling and tugging just a bit... too   
much control. Fraser sucked harder,   
allowed his moan at the taste, the pure   
concentrated essence out and felt Ray's   
shudder all through him.

"Please --"

*Yes*. Fraser wrapped a hand around the base  
of Ray's penis and held firm, just barely   
prepared for the other man's helpless thrust.   
He found himself kissing his own fist, an act   
somewhere between precious and obscene.

"Fraser you feel so good..."

And that was it. This was wonderful,   
everything about it was wonderful, and he   
wasn't surprised to find his body agreed   
whole-heartedly with the assessment.   
Everything felt right, from the hands roving   
restlessly, helplessly over his scalp to the hard  
floor beneath his knees, to the way the tips of   
his fingers skated easily over the fine, thin   
skin of Ray's inner thighs.

The need to know, once and for all, everything   
that would make Ray insane with need for him   
was palpable, intense. A hot tight weight   
around his chest, uneasy on his skin. Fraser   
let his finger ease back behind Ray's testicles,  
teased at the perineum experimentally. Ray   
moaned and shuddered again, fingers   
tightening in his hair.

The implications were staggering, utterly   
impossible not to imagine in a series of   
strobic flashes of awareness that for a brief,   
marvelous time made up the whole of Fraser's  
conscious thought processes. 

Ray came while Fraser was still trying to work   
his finger past the hotly inviting pucker of   
muscle. He swallowed instinctively, fighting   
against the sudden soul-searing *need* to keep  
going, to get far enough inside to ruthlessly   
stimulate the other man's prostate in the   
hopes of getting Ray to harden again as close   
to immediately as possible. 

Ray *was* tired. Was *tired* --

It was deeply gratifying to hear the small   
disappointment in Ray's moan as he moved   
away. 

Fraser wiped his mouth on his hand, licked   
himself clean with thorough pleasure, feeling   
Ray's eyes on him, feeling the shell-shocked   
fascination like oxygen in his lungs.

And then he was being pushed backwards in   
what was either Ray falling on him or the   
world's slowest tackle. They hit the floor in a   
tangle and when Ray didn't just slump over   
him he knew it had been the latter.

"Ray, your leg --"

"Can be rebandaged later. Let me... let me...   
well, fuck. Uniform 1, Ray 0. Open these   
right now, Fraser."

Fraser obliged and found himself wondering,   
mindlessly, whether Ray had ever played a   
musical instrument. His hands seemed much  
too clever, not fast, not fast at all oh --

"No, move your hands, let me... you don't want  
this to be the same as what you do for yourself,  
do you?"

Unsafe, unknown, Ray on him, touching him,   
touching him --

"I could touch you this way all over..."

Curiously innocent, maddening. "*Please*."

"God, do you have any idea what you sound like?   
You want me to suck you, hunh? You want my   
mouth on you?"

"No... not yet..."

Soft laugh. "I don't think we're gonna have all   
that much longer, do you?"

"Ohhhh..."

"Ah, Fraser, you're beautiful like this, just beautiful  
c'mon, come for me... for me."

"Yes, please --"

"D'you feel me? Is your body sure?"

White heat at the base of his spine, arching him   
up off Ray's cool kitchen floor, gathering power,   
sapping him, making him loud, shameless. His   
eyes were long since closed, helpless denial,   
pointless struggle to maintain some illusion of   
control and Ray knew just what he needed, Ray  
knew

Ray had always known, always -- 

The flames rolled through him fast and   
catastrophic, leaving him a fragile sculpture of  
ash just waiting for a stiff wind to blow him   
away utterly...

And later it wasn't so much Ray's surprising   
weight on him that roused him as its constant,  
noticeably uncomfortable shifts.

"We have to get you to bed." No, he did *not*   
sound just like his grandmother. 

"Mmm... I like it here."

"You need your rest."

"And why is that, oh evil Mountie of mine?"

"Because later I am going to flog you unconscious  
with my big, wide, sweet-smelling leather belt."

"..."

Game, set, match.

End.


End file.
